From Wallenstein's Camp, scene 1.

     RECRUIT'S SONG.

    How sweet the wild sound
     Of drum and of fife!
    To roam o'er earth's round,
     Lead a wandering life,
      With steed trained aright,
      And bold for the fight,
      With a sword by the side,
      To rove far and wide,--
      Quick, nimble, and free
      As the finch that we see
      On bushes and trees,
      Or braving the breeze,--
   Huzza, then! the Friedlander's banner for me!


From Wallenstein's Camp, scene the last.

   SECOND CUIRASSIER sings.
   Up, up, my brave comrades! to horse! to horse!
    Let us haste to the field and to freedom!
   To the field, for 'tis there that is proved our hearts' force,
    'Tis there that in earnest we need 'em!
   None other can there our places supply,
   Each must stand alone,--on himself must rely.

   CHORUS.
   None other can there our places supply,
   Each must stand alone,--on himself must rely.

   DRAGOON.
   Now freedom appears from the world to have flown,
    None but lords and their vassals one traces;
   While falsehood and cunning are ruling alone
    O'er the living cowardly races.
   The man who can look upon death without fear--
   The soldier,--is now the sole freeman left here.

   CHORUS.
   The man who can look upon death without fear--
   The soldier,--is now the sole freeman left here.

   FIRST YAGER.
   The cares of this life, he casts them away,
    Untroubled by fear or by sorrow;
   He rides to his fate with a countenance gay,
    And finds it to-day or to-morrow;
   And if 'tis to-morrow, to-day we'll employ
   To drink full deep of the goblet of joy,

   CHORUS.
   And if 'tis to-morrow, to-day we'll employ
   To drink full deep of the goblet of joy.
          [They refill their glasses and drink.

   CAVALRY SERGEANT.
   The skies o'er him shower his lot filled with mirth,
    He gains, without toil, its full measure;
   The peasant, who grubs in the womb of the earth,
    Believes that he'll find there the treasure,
   Through lifetime he shovels and digs like a slave,
   And digs--till at length he has dug his own grave.

   CHORUS.
   Through lifetime he shovels and digs like a slave,
   And digs--till at length he has dug his own grave.

   FIRST YAGER.
   The horseman, as well as his swift-footed beast,
    Are guests by whom all are affrighted,
   When glimmer the lamps at the wedding feast,
    In the banquet he joins uninvited;
   He woos not long, and with gold he ne'er buys,
   But carries by storm love's blissful prize.

   CHORUS.
   He woos not long, and with gold he ne'er buys,
   But carries by storm love's blissful prize.

   SECOND CUIRASSIER.
   Why weeps the maiden? Why sorrows she so?
    Let me hence, let me hence, girl, I pray thee?
   The soldier on earth no sure quarters can know,
    With true love he ne'er can repay thee.
   Fate hurries him onward with fury blind,
   His peace he never can leave behind.

   CHORUS.
   Fate hurries him onward with fury blind,
   His peace he can never leave behind,

   FIRST YAGER.
   (Taking his two neighbors by the hand. The rest do the same,
   forming a large semi-circle.)
   Away, then, my comrades, our chargers let's mount!
    In the battle the bosom bounds lightly!
   Youth boils, and life's goblet still foams at the fount,
    Away! while the spirit glows brightly!
   Unless ye have courage your life to stake,
   That life ye never your own can make!

   CHORUS.
   Unless ye have courage your life to stake,
   That life ye never your own can make!


From William Tell, act i. scene 1.

 SCENE--The high rocky shore of the Lake of Lucerne, opposite Schwytz.

 The lake forms an inlet in the land; a cottage is near the shore;
 a fisher-boy is rowing in a boat. Beyond the lake are seen the green
 pastures, the villages and farms of Schwytz glowing in the sunshine.
 On the left of the spectator are the peaks of the Hacken, enveloped in
 clouds; on his right, in the distance, are seen the glaciers. Before
 the curtain rises the RANZ DES VACHES, and the musical sound of the
 cattle-bells are heard, and continue also for some time after the scene
 opens.

   FISHER-BOY (sings in his boat).
   AIR--Ranz des Vaches.

   Bright smiles the lake, as it woos to its deep,--
   A boy on its margin of green lies asleep;
      Then hears he a strain,
       Like the flute's gentle note,
      Sweet as voices of angels
       In Eden that float.
   And when he awakens, with ecstasy blest,
   The waters are playing all over his breast,
      From the depths calls a voice
       "Dearest child, with me go!
      I lure down the sleeper,
       I draw him below."

   HERDSMAN (on the mountain).
   AIR--Variation of the Ranz des Vaches.

       Ye meadows, farewell!
        Ye pastures so glowing!
        The herdsman is going,
       For summer has fled!
   We depart to the mountain; we'll come back again,
   When the cuckoo is calling,--when wakens the strain,--
   When the earth is tricked out with her flowers so gay,
   When the stream sparkles bright in the sweet month of May.
       Ye meadows, farewell!
        Ye pastures so glowing!
        The herdsman is going,
       For summer has fled!

   CHAMOIS-HUNTER (appearing on the top of a rock).
   AIR--Second Variation of the Ranz des Vaches.

   O'er the heights growls the thunder, while quivers the bridge,
   Yet no fear feels the hunter, though dizzy the ridge;
       He strides on undaunted,
        O'er plains icy-bound,
       Where spring never blossoms,
        Nor verdure is found;
   And, a broad sea of mist lying under his feet,
   Man's dwellings his vision no longer can greet;
       The world he but views
        When the clouds broken are--
       With its pastures so green,
        Through the vapor afar.


From William Tell, act iii. scene 1.

   WALTER sings.

     Bow and arrow bearing,
      Over hills and streams
     Moves the hunter daring,
      Soon as daylight gleams.

     As all flying creatures
      Own the eagle's sway,
     So the hunter, Nature's
      Mounts and crags obey.

     Over space he reigneth,
      And he makes his prize
     All his bolt attaineth,
      All that creeps or flies.


From William Tell, act iv. scene 3.

   CHORUS OF BROTHERS OF MERCY.

   Death comes to man with hasty stride,
    No respite is to him e'er given;
   He's stricken down in manhood's pride,
    E'en in mid race from earth he's driven.
   Prepared, or not, to go from here,
   Before his Judge he must appear!


From Turandot, act ii. scene 4.

        RIDDLE.

   The tree whereon decay
    All those from mortals sprung,--
   Full old, and yet whose spray
    Is ever green and young;
   To catch the light, it rolls
    Each leaf upon one side;
   The other, black as coals,
    The sun has ne'er descried.

   It places on new rings
    As often as it blows;
   The age, too, of all things
    To mortal gaze it shows.
   Upon its bark so green
    A name oft meets the eye,
   Yet 'tis no longer seen,
    When it grows old and dry.
   This tree--what can it mean?
    I wait for thy reply. [70]


From Mary Stuart, act iii, scene 1.

 SCENE--A Park. MARY advances hastily from behind some trees. HANNAH
 KENNEDY follows her slowly.

   MARY.

   Let me my newly-won liberty taste!
    Let me rejoice as a child once again!
   And, as on pinions, with airy foot hast
    Over the tapestried green of the plain!
   Have I escaped from my prison so drear?
    Shall I no more in my sad dungeon pine?
   Let me in long and in thirsty draughts here
    Drink in the breezes, so free, so divine

   Thanks, thanks, ye trees, in smiling verdure dressed,
    In that ye veil my prison-walls from sight!
   I'll dream that I am free and blest
    Why should I waken from a dream so bright?
   Do not the spacious heavens encompass me?
   Behold! my gaze, unshackled, free,
    Pierces with joy the trackless realms of light!
   There, where the gray-tinged hills of mist project,
    My kingdom's boundaries begin;
   Yon clouds, that tow'rd the south their course direct,
    France's far-distant ocean seek to win.

   Swiftly-flying clouds, hardy sailors through air!
   Mortal hath roamed with ye, sailed with ye, ne'er!
   Greetings of love to my youthful home bear!
   I am a prisoner, I am in chains,
   Ah, not a herald, save ye, now remains,
   Free through the air hath your path ever been,
   Ye are not subject to England's proud queen!

   Yonder's a fisherman trimming his boat.
    E'en that frail skiff from all danger might tear me,
    And to the dwellings of friends it might bear me.
   Scarcely his earnings can keep life afloat.
   Richly with treasures his lap I'd heap over,--
    Oh! what a draught should reward him to-day!
   Fortune held fast in his nets he'd discover,
    If in his bark he would take me away!

   Hear'st thou the horn of the hunter resound,
    Wakening the echo through forest and plain?
   Ah, on my spirited courser to bound!
    Once more to join in the mirth-stirring train!
    Hark! how the dearly-loved tones come again!
   Blissful, yet sad, the remembrance they wake;
    Oft have they fallen with joy on mine ear,
    When in the highlands the bugle rang clear,
   Rousing the chase over mountain and brake.


From The Maid of Orleans, Prologue, scene 4.

   JOAN OF ARC (soliloquizing).

   Farewell, ye mountains, and ye pastures dear,
    Ye still and happy valleys, fare ye well!
   No longer may Joan's footsteps linger here,
    Joan bids ye now a long, a last farewell!

   Ye meadows that I watered, and each bush
    Set by my hands, ne'er may your verdure fail!
   Farewell, ye grots, ye springs that cooling gush
    Thou echo, blissful voice of this sweet vale,
   So wont to give me back an answering strain,--
   Joan must depart, and ne'er return again!

   Ye haunts of all my silent joys of old,
    I leave ye now behind forevermore!
   Disperse, ye lambs, far o'er the trackless wold!
    She now hath gone who tended you of yore!
   I must away to guard another fold,
    On yonder field of danger, stained with gore.
   Thus am I bidden by a spirit's tone
   'Tis no vain earthly longing drives me on.

   For He who erst to Moses on the height
    Of Horeb, in the fiery bush came down,
   And bade him stand in haughty Pharaoh's sight,
    He who made choice of Jesse's pious son,
   The shepherd, as his champion in the fight,--
    He who to shepherds grace hath ever shown,
   He thus addressed me from this lofty tree:
   "Go hence! On earth my witness thou shalt be!

   "In rugged brass, then, clothe thy members now,
    In steel thy gentle bosom must be dressed!
   No mortal love thy heart must e'er allow,
    With earthly passion's sinful flame possessed.
   Ne'er will the bridal wreath adorn thy brow,
    No darling infant blossom on thy breast;
   Yet thou with warlike honors shalt be laden,
   Raising thee high above each earthly maiden.

   "For when the bravest in the fight despair,
    When France appears to wait her final blow,
   Then thou my holy oriflamme must bear;
    And, as the ripened corn the reapers mow,
   Hew down the conqueror as he triumphs there;
    His fortune's wheel thou thus wilt overthrow,
   To France's hero-sons salvation bring,
   Deliver Rheims once more, and crown thy king!"

   The Lord hath promised to send down a sign
    A helmet he hath sent, it comes from Him,--
   His sword endows mine arm with strength divine,
    I feel the courage of the cherubim;
   To join the battle-turmoil how I pine!
    A raging tempest thrills through every limb;
   The summons to the field bursts on mine ear,
   My charger paws the ground, the trump rings clear.


From The Maid of Orleans, act iv. scene 1.

 SCENE--A hall prepared for a festival. The pillars are covered with
 festoons of flowers; flutes and hautboys are heard behind the scene.

   JOAN OF ARC (soliloquizing).

   Each weapon rests, war's tumults cease to sound,
    While dance and song succeed the bloody fray;
   Through every street the merry footsteps bound,
    Altar and church are clad in bright array,
   And gates of branches green arise around,
    Over the columns twine the garlands gay;
   Rheims cannot hold the ever-swelling train
   That seeks the nation-festival to gain.

   All with one joyous feeling are elate,
    One single thought is thrilling every breast;
   What, until now, was severed by fierce hate,
    Is by the general rapture truly blessed.
   By each who called this land his parent-state,
    The name of Frenchman proudly is confessed;
   The glory is revived of olden days,
   And to her regal son France homage pays.

   Yet I who have achieved this work of pride,
    I cannot share the rapture felt by all:
   My heart is changed, my heart is turned aside,
    It shuns the splendor of this festival;
   'Tis in the British camp it seeks to hide,--
    'Tis on the foe my yearning glances fall;
   And from the joyous circle I must steal,
   My bosom's crime o'erpowering to conceal.

   Who? I? What! in my bosom chaste
    Can mortal's image have a seat?
   This heart, by heavenly glory graced,--
    Dares it with earthly love to beat?
   The saviour of my country, I,--
   The champion of the Lord Most High,
   Own for my country's foe a flame--
   To the chaste sun my guilt proclaim,
   And not be crushed beneath my shame?

   (The music behind the scene changes into a soft, melting melody.)

   Woe! oh woe! what strains enthralling!
    How bewildering to mine ear
   Each his voice beloved recalling,
    Charming up his image dear!

   Would that battle-tempests bound me!
   Would that spears were whizzing round me
    In the hotly-raging strife!
    Could my courage find fresh life!

   How those tones, those voices blest
    Coil around my bosom burning
   All the strength within my breast
    Melting into tender yearning,
    Into tears of sadness turning!

   (The flutes are again heard--she falls into a silent melancholy.)

   Gentle crook! oh that I never
    For the sword had bartered thee!
   Sacred oak! why didst thou ever
    From thy branches speak to me?
   Would that thou to me in splendor,
    Queen of heaven, hadst ne'er come down!
   Take--all claim I must surrender,--
    Take, oh take away thy crown!

   Ah, I open saw yon heaven,
    Saw the features of the blest!
   Yet to earth my hopes are riven,
    In the skies they ne'er can rest!
   Wherefore make me ply with ardor
    This vocation, terror-fraught?
   Would this heart were rendered harder.
    That by heaven to feel was taught!

   To proclaim Thy might sublime
   Those select, who, free from crime,
   In Thy lasting mansions stand;
   Send Thou forth Thy spirit-band,
   The immortal, and the pure,
   Feelingless, from tears secure
   Never choose a maiden fair,
   Shepherdess' weak spirit ne'er!

   Kings' dissensions wherefore dread I,
   Why the fortune of the fight?
   Guilelessly my lambs once fed I
   On the silent mountain-height.
   Yet Thou into life didst bear me,
   To the halls where monarchs throne.
   In the toils of guilt to snare me--
   Ah, the choice was not mine own!




FOOTNOTES.


[62]  A pointless satire upon Klopstock and his Messias.

[63]  Schiller, who is not very particular about the quantities of
classical names, gives this word with the o long--which is, of course,
the correct quantity--in The Gods of Greece.

[64]  A well-known general, who died in 1783.

[65]  See the play of The Robbers.

[66]  Written in consequence of the ill-treatment Schiller experienced
at the hands of the Grand Duke Charles of Wirtemberg.

[67]  Written in the Suabian dialect.

[68]  An allusion to the appointment of regimental surgeon, conferred
upon Schiller by the Grand Duke Charles in 1780, when he was twenty-one
years of age.

[69]  The Landlord on the Mountain.

[70]  The year.